


Space Between

by sextustarquinius



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 18:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13370247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sextustarquinius/pseuds/sextustarquinius
Summary: There was a big mirror on the wardrobe’s door. Probably Liam checks himself there before he goes out. Zayn stood in front it, facing his bareness, and there was nothing wrong with it. For the first time in a long while there was nothing wrong with his body. Now, they’re friends. He wanted to hug himself, thrilled.





	Space Between

He wakes up every morning.

Every morning, when the soft sunlight hits his face, he stretches his muscles as his arms go above his head. He yawns while rubbing his fingers on his eyes, so he opens them. Slowly he lets the light in his warm honey eyes. Sadly, it’s not happy as it seems. Waking up every morning means more. Tastes like tobacco and aluminum. Smells like burned wood. His mouth hardens in a discontent expression: facing life every day. 

His name is Zayn.

He gets up from bed and his body starts shaking, missing the warmth from his bed. Ignoring his body’s reactions, he goes on and enters the bathroom. He looks to the mirror, but can’t see himself: this is a part of the day in which vanity is acceptable. It’s needed. He brushes his teeth, washes his face and gets his hair right. Even a lit bit of makeup, but nothing noticeable. Nothing on him should not be noticeable. He wholly should not be noticed. He should be invisible.

He returned to his bedroom. He opened his wardrobe, standing in front of the mirror. He undressed. Sideways, he looked down on his own body, through his tattoos and his pale skin, until his eyes stopped on his underwear: a black boxer wrapped around his bulge and his arse, molding around the curves of his body. He shook his head, moved his eyes forward and focused on his clothes. Focused on nothing, the same word on repeat inside his head: stop, stop, stop.

Once he gets all his clothes on, he goes to the kitchen to have breakfast. He tries to have a balanced diet – all he eats in the morning are fruits –, but he’s lucky he got a good metabolism, because he goes beyond the limits.  He’s eating basically all the time. He bites his lower lip, he shakes his leg and he draws endless random stuff while speaking on the phone. He takes heavy breaths. He ate an apple, a pear, some grapes and a slice of watermelon, while rolling through the infinite timelines of his social webs.

He was finally ready to leave. There was nothing left to do.

He sat on couch on the living room, just beside the door. He put on his shoes and closed his eyes. He has to leave. There’s no class without the students. He picked his things and stood in front of the door. The cold from the keys ran through his whole body and he nearly groaned. Why is he like that?

Everything is still cool while he’s inside of the building. When he stepped out, however, everything changed. The sun was shining up in the sky, there were a lot of people and cars running around. No one could see him yet. He headed to the bus stop. He just stood there, receiving all the heat. The heat is too much for him, he was so hot that he could... After a few minutes, he could see from afar the bus getting near, coming to him in all its bigness, moving slow like it didn’t want to go too deep, involved in heat and smoke, smoke and heat.

Zayn sighs. Inside the bus, he got tense. People will notice me while I walk by them all the way to the backseats. He doesn’t stop looking to the ground, his hands squeezing the bag strap. Even when he sat down on the back of the bus, where nobody could see him, even then he couldn’t taste relief. Not with all the suspicion bubbling in his mind: did they hear what I’m thinking? Did they see what I am?

Do I exist to them?

After class, he decided to burn out his energies studying, because he knew that if he goes home, he would empty the fridge. And die starving. So he just locked himself up in the library and read everything he could think of. It got dark, though, and the librarian had to kick him out. The bus was so stressful earlier, he couldn’t do it again, so he decided to go home by walking. Is it going to be forty minutes walking? Yes, but at least he’s going to be alone. The streets were very dark and Zayn could see himself being chased by a freaking murderer, but if he’s going to die there, so be it. He doesn’t even care at all. He just can’t stand any more eyes straight through him.

He stopped frozen when he reached a church.

He was so worried about the other people’s eyes that he’s forgotten God’s eyes, always hovering above him, above us all. He felt them weighting him down right away, letting out a sigh. He sneaked into the church, no one’s there. Great. He entered quickly like he was about to face a cold shower. All the light there was coming from the candles in the altar. He walked up to it and got down in his knees in front of the image of bloody Christ in the cross. His chest got tighter, his body was hot and limp. He was sweating. He closed his eyes.

He wanted to move his lips and pray, at least say something. Apologize. Beg for mercy, for being this kind of… person. God repudiates him. He desired to die: he could throw himself in a fire, he could whip himself a thousand times, he could stick a knife in his heart. And, all of sudden, he realizes the kind of thoughts he’s thinking in God’s house. He looked up so his eyes met the bloody Christ’s and, instead of comfort and fondness, he just found judgment and disgust. Those eyes wrapped in blood shamed him.

Like he just saw a ghost, Zayn got up and ran, needy to leave that place.

When he arrived at home, he nearly broke the door trying to open it. He sat down on the couch, sighed and rubbed his hands on his face. His stomach was twisted and turned. His Manipura was absent. He was exhausted: physically, because the walk, and spiritually, because of himself. His heart was pounding hard, his aura was dark grey. He just wanted to lie down and sleep. For good. Didn’t want to face anyone, didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to do anything never more.

He needed a shower.

It’s a surprisingly light moment in his day. He takes his clothes off as fast as he can, ‘cause it’s too dangerous as well. But showering is good, the water hitting down on him like infinite cold baby hands touching his skin gently, caressing him. He feels a little bit of affection, he feels cared. When he touches himself he likes to pretend he’s washing the agony away. He likes to pretend that, once he’s finished, everything will be different, all the frustration has gone down the drain. To not think about that. He even smiled looking to the mirror, so he started to pretend he was getting ready to go out with his friends. Okay, friends is too ambitious; friend. Well, he knows a lot of people, yes, but not so deeply to say they’re his friends. He felt desperately alone.

In his bedroom, again he was facing the mirror, but naked this time. There was nowhere to run, he faced his genitals. He turned around and stared at his butt. Little round amounts of white flesh. Why? Why I don’t have a pink jasmine instead of this white anthurium? Another deep breath. He turned around, opened a drawer and grabbed a boxer, quickly covering his shame.

It’s funny, you know, about the friends. You know, he doesn’t feel like he has friends ‘cause he don’t walk among people like him. He has to cautiously walk away from his folks, to not be seen like he’s one of them. To not be seen at all. But he decided to change it. He was born a shining fire, so he will not be stuck here, in bellow zero. He’s going to walk into the scorching lava deserts from hell. He gave in to his sin.

It’s an epiphany. His pupils got tighter and he realized: he saw him trimming himself to fit a mold. He breathed in through his nose and out though his mouth, much lighter.

He put his best clothes on. He was dazzling all dressed in black, he even passed a lipstick on, making his lips pinker. He already accepted the judgment and the pity. He knew he shouldn’t be like the way he is, but he finally realized that no one could ever change him. His stomach was fine by now, bouncing joyfully. He had a flower crown around his head.

He called an Uber.

He arrived at the bar. “Tropical Dreams” in neon letters, right above the entrance, surrounded by neon palm trees and coconut drinks. He hesitates, but went too far to turn back now. He passes through the door and recognizes the music at the back right away. Okay, maybe not the song specifically, but the voice is Ariana Grande’s for sure. He stopped at the bar and looked up to the board with endless options of drinks. He did not look around to catch the environment minutely. He was looking for the cheapest one.

Not holding himself, Zayn looked around, trying to analyze everything there. His eyes met a guy’s. The stranger smiled at him and he, embarrassed, turned his face. The barwoman was watching entertained. He smirked shyly to her. His heart started pounding very hard nervously and his blood got colder. In the corner of his eye, Zayn saw that stranger moving in his direction. He sighed, but answered smiling.

The boy’s name is Liam.

Zayn introduced himself. His very presence there created an aura that hit Zayn like a wave, the sea’s force trying to push you into it. He took Zayn’s breath away. He was burning. They started talking about some random stuff in the bar and, when Zayn realized, they spent half of the night on it. They talked about everything, even philosophy and history. Liam soon realized he was new at this. All of this. He felt superprotective over that little creature: what would those freak perverts do if they found such fresh and warm flesh, such a naive child?

They would tear his innocent fantasies apart and play with his inexperience and unprepared feelings. They would besmirch him, enjoying his suffering. No, they can’t. Zayn’s like he’s made of the finest crystal: fragile, beauty and rare. Liam was feeling something so strong for someone he just met, is it called love at the first sight? He didn’t know, but his Anahata was anxious, thirsty to roll on the sheets with him.

Liam chuckled and stroked Zayn’s cheek, his kindest eyes meeting the other’s insecure ones. There was a conflict inside of him, actually. He wanted to. However, he did not know what to do. Liam just approached his face to Zayn’s ear and whispered that he could trust him. Zayn just needs to stop resisting and hand himself to Liam.

Zayn closed his eyes and sighed. Once they opened again, he was lying in his back on Liam’s bed. The alcohol vanished away from his veins just staring deeply into Liam’s eyes, the desire burning in his eyes, his hunger weighting Zayn down. His touch, on the other hand, was mild, light as a calm breeze after the rain: he was handling Zayn like he was a huge valuable diamond. He was enjoying taking every cloth off, slowly discovering Zayn’s skin, leaving a kiss in each inch to mark his territory. Restlessly his hands ran through the boy’s torso until they reached the nipples. His fingertips pinched and caressed them, making Zayn twist and turn, moaning. Easily, Liam rid Zayn of his trousers and stopped to contemplate him entirely nude, his arousal the cutest sexy thing Liam has ever seen. He couldn’t help smiling.

After a few seconds, Zayn’s head got back to its place. Liam told him that it was his turn: lying down by his side, Liam ordered Zayn to undress him. All excited, Zayn climbed up Liam and, with fervor, they kissed. He filled his hands with Liam’s hard pecs, just after he started to unbutton his shirt. Mouth watering, Zayn sank his face into the other boy’s perfectly fit body, leaving bruises wherever he could. Liam just bit his lower lip and smiled at the pits of pain. Finally, Zayn got there: he was ready to face his mistake, his damnation. He opened Liam’s zip, anxious, and his chin dropped slightly at the sight of Liam’s length.

Liam moved his lips to talk, he was going to say that Zayn didn’t have to. It’s not usual to him. However, before he could articulate a word, Zayn took Liam’s whole prick in his mouth. Liam just let out a groan. He started to move slowly, sort of trying to taste his partner. He took a long time moving his head up and down at his own tempo, Liam’s fingers sunk into Zayn’s messy dark hair. Zayn took that penis out of his mouth like a lollipop, but quickly sucked Liam’s balls, making him groan louder, grabbing the sheets tight.

With a sudden move, Liam pulled Zayn up to kiss him once more. Liam let Zayn in his hands and knees while placing himself behind him. His hands landed on his pretty white bum cheeks. With caution again, Liam softly licked Zayn’s ass like a child licking their own honeyed fingers. Zayn’s body reacted right away, bouncing, so Liam had to wrap his fingers around his waist, tightly, leaving the skin there pinky.

Zayn moaned nonstop while Liam rimmed him.

His fresh flesh was so firm and made Liam go back to that time when he was a little kid, messing with his meal, kneaded fruits with honey, everything around him was sticky and brown. He licked his hands and the objects around him. Covered in honey everything is tasty, for a kid. But he knew it wasn’t enough. Sliding one hand up in Zayn’s back, he reached the drawer and picked up the lube and a condom. Liam told Zayn to lie down on his belly. After wearing the condom, Liam applied lube in his prick and in Zayn’s hole and tried to get in. A few inches in, he withdrew, told Zayn to stay calm and relaxed. A bit more lube, he went in again, a few inches in and he withdrew.  After four or five times, he was all in. Zayn was still feeling something burning inside of him, but underneath hurt, there was a great feeling.

Outside his closed eyes, Zayn felt the other one lean forward, his arms by his sides. Like a child afraid in the dark finding comfort in their sheets, Zayn found security with that person. This boy. Liam. He never got near to the thought that someone could build this kind of connection, mainly to someone you met an hour ago. He wished that moment never end.

When Liam started to thrust, Zayn was shut down. Everything inside of him stopped, he was only that burn and pleasure inside of him. Every now and then, something came out of Liam’s lips, his name or something we usually say in sex. But Zayn couldn’t hear nor see: he was all touch. His arms moved to wrap a pillow, shivering when Liam left little kisses on his nape, before he lifted Zayn hips. Zayn likes to feel Liam’s fingers there.

He just thought it, and they moved to wrap his boner.

Zayn’s senses went numb again, he didn’t even listen to Liam saying that he was doing so fine. Liam opened a big smile seeing Zayn squeezing the sheets, breathing faster, moaning loudly, feeling he was close to shoot. When he came, he screamed. Yam. Not the way Liam wished to hear, it was not his name and a loud groan. Instead, Zayn screamed like a mother giving birth, like there was literally something huge coming out of him, carrying away a rock that was stuck in his throat: years and years of self repression, self hatred, guilty and fear came out with that orgasm. He screamed in transformation.

Liam managed to get out, quickly taking off the condom and jerking off fast, willing to cum too, ‘till he spread his seed over Zayn’s booty. He just threw himself by Zayn, tiredness producing silence on the room. They didn’t have a chance to talk after sex ‘cause Zayn were too sleepy.

Liam pulled the boy’s closer to him, that superprotective feeling taking over his stomach again. He breathed in deeply to catch Zayn’s sense. Zayn was the first to break the silence: even though he wanted to take a shower, his legs were too weak, trembling. So Liam went to his wardrobe, picked a clean towel and, back to his bed, he cleaned carefully his lover. A silly smile on his face.

Lover?

Liam swept those thoughts, shaking his head, and laid his head on the pillow to finally fall asleep.

Zayn woke up, in the next morning. Differently. The warmth in the bed and in the sheets was embracing him, like his mother used to do when he was a child. But it was mostly inside of him. The room wasn’t flooded by the sunlight, ‘cause the shutters were closed. He stretched his muscles, arms above his head, a yawn. He opened his eyes but did not feel the same as he did the other days. It was not opening the eyes, it was more. A mild smile drew from his lips as he opened his eyes. It was magical, it was huge. Tasted like lilac and smelled like perfume. Which was the smell of Liam’s bedroom. He sat up in his bed and noticed that he was all alone. He ran his eyes around and saw the bathroom door open to the right.

He stared at his reflection at the mirror and he looked the same. But did  not feel the same, felt like he was starting at someone else, who was talking to him. Like a kid hearing an elder one telling tales, he listened. There was a force inside him, he could see himself taking his first steps. He was lighter. He washed his face and left, passing his fingers through his hair. He searched on the ground for his clothes, but couldn’t find them. He noticed the house was extremely quiet. Strangely. There was a big mirror on the wardrobe’s door. Probably Liam checks himself there before he goes out. Zayn stood in front it, facing his bareness, and there was nothing wrong with it. For the first time in a long while there was nothing wrong with his body. Now, they’re friends. He wanted to hug himself, thrilled.

All of sudden, the door opened, and Liam stepped in, bumping into him. That unexpected rough touch produced an invisible light, a tiny explosion, like two atoms colliding and neutralizing each other. They were charged with opposing charges. By instinct, Liam’s arms moved to hold Zayn, to prevent him to fall. And he reacted with a hug. He was feeling at home.

“Hey, if you hungry I can prepare us breakfast”, Zayn nodded.

“Yeah, I am. But I couldn’t find my clothes.”

“Oh, I let them on the toilet, under a clean towel, if you wanted to shower.”

“Ah, I didn’t see them. Well, I’ll shower then, it’ll only take five minutes.”

“Ok”, Liam smooched him, so sweet and… familiar. They were talking like they were married for years now.

“Hm”, Zayn started talking, “I’m getting too emotional, ain’t I? I’m sorry.”

Liam smiled, eyes sparkling.

“The way you feel”, Liam replied touching Zayn’s heart, “makes you to be you.”

Zayn smiled so widely that his cheeks ached.

The chains that once bound him todat are no more.

It’s so good to feel something other than guilt, anger with yourself and excessive self defense. It’s tiring. But now he was feeling so many things at the same time that he can’t even get all of them. But he knew that with time he will know. Maybe love is one of them. He couldn’t help but like it: he wasn’t ashamed by who he is anymore. All he’ll do from now on is to build his own happiness. What he needed was this: something true. He felt something opening in him, finally. Ego cages you in a prison without walls. Letting it go, he had found his true self.

His own true self.

The space between them was deafening.  


End file.
